


Blame Storm

by Queerasil



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Almost Crack, Alternate Universe, Author Favorite, F/F, F/M, Office AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerasil/pseuds/Queerasil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Office AU. Ned Stark reluctantly becomes Assistant Director of Kingsland Corporation, and must do battle with clients, employees, and his own friends. Meanwhile, Sansa deals with perverts, pedos, brats, and the normal perils of teenage life. Tyrion is exiled to the mail room, where he meets freaks like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Madness Begins

**Author's Note:**

> *AUTHOR'S NOTE: This has to be the strangest thing I've ever written. This was inspired by Mad Men, The Office, and The IT Crowd. All I can do is offer a brief explanation and hope you enjoy the weirdness that it to come. 
> 
> This isn't really crack. Most of this is pretty canon to the TV show and serious. It's an adaption, basically. An odd adaption, but an adaption nonetheless. 
> 
> Ships you can expect: Sansa/Margaery, Tywin/Olenna, Jaime/Brienne, Arya/Shireen (maybe), Cersei/Jaime, Stannis/Melisandre, and probably many more. 
> 
> Characters in this story: Brienne, Bronn, Ned, Sansa, Arya, Tywin, Tyrion, Shae, Samwell, Olenna, Margaery, Stannis, Shireen, Melisandre, Robert, Cersei, Jaime, Varys, Baelish, and probaly Dany and Drogo later. Also will probably bring in the Greyjoys, Boltons, and Mormonts later. Here's hoping!
> 
> Please, please enjoy! I wrote this for enjoyment. I sincerely hope you like. :)

...

There are only a four things that Ned Stark doesn't like:

1\. Small spaces. Being in tight, confined quarters makes him feel as if he's about to lose his head. This is very inconvenient, especially when he's nestled between his two sleeping daughters on a four-hour plane ride to somewhere he doesn't want to go. 

2\. Suits. The almost-choking nature of a necktie makes him very justifiably uncomfortable. Also -- as Arya likes to point out -- he's not build for fancy clothes. He should be wearing plaid, or tweed, or all black, or something heavy. Starks don't wear three-piece Italian-knockoff suits. 

3\. New experiences. Sure, when Ned was young, he loved the thrill of a new place. 'Making the Eight' (as Rob so crudely put it), had once been a boyish ambition of his. All that childishness had faded away long ago when he met Cat, of course. She's made him a man -- a better man -- than he thought possible. Now that she was gone, maybe he could bring himself to try something new again. 

4\. Liars. 

Ned wasn't initially keen on the idea of moving to Westeros. He was even less eager to start working as Assistant Director of Kingsland Corporation. He was downright despondent on the prospect of having Rob as his boss. Sure, Ned was loyal to him, but gods was Rob an idiot. 

The first few months of Ned's new 'rule' were tough. He had trouble getting Rob to agree to any changes, and even more trouble getting Cersei and Tywin to agree as well. By the end of the first month, the only thing Ned had been able to change was the color of the soap in the bathroom. 

Ned waited patiently in the elevator as it rose 23 floors to The Red Keep. Sansa stood at his side, texting away on her phone. He didn't know who she was texting; she didn't have any friends (that he knew of). Ned cringed at the prospect of a secret boyfriend. 

The elevator lurched, and Ned swung his arm out protectively to catch his daughter. Sansa just kind of glared at him and continued texting. Sansa didn't talk to him, not if she could avoid it. She'd been like that ever since her mother died. 

"This elevator's going to break some day," Ned said gloomily. "When it does, I don't know if I'll be able to fix it."

To Ned's surprise, Sansa spoke. "Yes you will." Ned looked over at her. Her eyes were still on her phone, but there was the faint trace of a rare smile on her lips. 

*

As Shae led Tyrion through the dingiest section of the company's basement, Tyrion couldn't help realizing how utterly, completely screwed he was. 

The basement was cold, and dark, and every sound echoed against the walls like gunfire. It smelled like piss, and it looked like some neglected corner of the shoddiest of the seven hells. 

"What the hell am I doing down here?" Tyrion was by no means an intimidating man, but he certainly tried to be. 

Shae looked very amused. "You father ordered you be sent down here until you learn your lesson." 

"What've I done now?" He honestly didn't know, but he had a pretty good idea it had something to do with alcohol and his mother. 

"He didn't say, but he was very, very persuasive." Shae's tone of voice made Tyrion nervous. His father wasn't persuasive; he was demanding. 

Shae stopped in front of a something that was either a door or a slightly cleaner part of the wall. "This is where you'll be working." 

"Wonderful," he muttered, looking around at the creepy and boring hallway around him. He looked back at Shae, who looked particularly pleased with herself. "Don't tell me you have a hand in this."

"Okay," she smirked. "I won't tell you." Without another word, Shae turned and walked away. 

Tyrion sighed as he realizes this is not how he'd ideally planned his life to be. Ideally, he should've started a popular cult centered around tits and wine by now. 

Tyrion knocked on the door, and then he realized 'What the hell am I being polite for?' and barged in without waiting for an answer. What he saw when he entered truly frightened him.

Mail. Piles and piles and piles of cream colored, sealed enveloped. He was surrounded by mail. Most of the piles were twice as tall as him. And down the middle of this sea of mail, there was a little part, just wide enough for someone to walk through. He felt a little bit like Moses as he walked through the parted sea of letters. 

"Welcome to the Wall," said a deep voice behind him. Tyrion spun around and saw no one there. For a second, he was concerned the mail was speaking to him. Tyrion peered over the smallest pile, and to his relief, he saw a large woman with short blonde hair standing there. 

"Brienne." The large woman held out a hand and Tyrion shook it. "You must be Tyrion."

He nodded, "Sadly, yes." 

Brienne nodded and started moving towards the back of the room, where there was a small clearing. 

There was another man, clad a Star Trek sweater, angrily shoving letters into a shredder. "File this! Sort this! He doesn't even want it! Bastard."

Tyrion sighed, "Ah, I see you're talking about my father. Don't let me interrupt." Tyrion took a seat on the cold ground, much to the surprise of Brienne. 

"We can get you a chair," she offered.

Tyrion waved her off. "Oh, please, it's not as if I'm going to get any shorter." 

The angry man laughed, but a cold stare from Brienne silenced him.

"Tyrion, this is Sam. Sam, this is Tyrion Lannister." She gritted her teeth as she spoke his last name, which wasn't a good sign. 

Sam stuttered, "Oh, oh, I'm sorry, I --"

"It's fine. Insult away. Makes this feel like home." Sam attempted not to laugh and Brienne stared at him as though she'd kill him if he did. "So what'd you lot do to get sent down here?"

"I asked to be sent down here," Brienne said, looking serious as ever. Tyrion raised an eyebrow, and she responded quickly. "Anything to get away from Stannis." 

"Stannis?" Tyrion vaguely remembered insulting Stannis once at the company Christmas party. Other than that, he'd fortunately had no interactions with the man. "Mind I ask why?"

"Not at all," Brienne shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Just can't stand the way he talks to his brother, Renly."

"Ah, yes, the time honored art of sibling bashing. I know it well. What about you, Sam? How'd you get banished to the wall?" 

Sam looked surprised that someone was paying attention to him. "Tywin asked me what I wanted to do, and I -- well I --"

"He told Tywin he wanted to be a wizard," Brienne said flatly.

"I thought it was a joke!"

Tyrion laughed. "Don't worry. I once told my father I wanted to be the god of tits and wine." 

Brienne cracked a smile, and Tyrion realized that he was finally surrounded by freaks just like him.


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa gets sweet, sweet revenge on Joffrey.

'Well, obviously,' thought Sansa. 'That was evident by the lack of fucking paper printing.' 

Sansa tried to print again, and when that didn't work, she delivered a sharp kick to the machine, which only served to stub her toe. 

"Shit," she mumbled, hoping no one would hear her. Unfortunately, someone did. 

"Having trouble?" 

Sansa groaned as she heard the unmistakably whiny voice of Joffrey. She didn't even turn around to look at him as she shook the printer again. "Fine."

"You don't look very fine." Sansa could hear his footsteps behind her as he approached her. She wanted to turn and walk away, but dammit she had copies to print and a job to do!

"Really, I'm okay." The agitation was beginning to show in her voice now, and she was sure that would only further provoke him. 

"Sure? I can help." 

Sansa could feel his beedy little eyes focused on her. She wasn't sure if Joffrey didn't know he was crossing a line, or if he knew he was and didn't care. She decided she didn't care; she just wanted him out. 

"Thanks." She hoped the sarcasm in her voice was enough to drive him away. Sadly, it wasn't. 

"Here, let me." Joffrey stepped out of nowhere, lifted the printer hood, and began fiddling with buttons. "Watch. This is why they call me 'The King'."

'No, we call you King Dickhead.' Sansa wanted to say that so bad. 'Gods, you're full of yourself.' 

Joffrey gave the printer a congratulatory slap as it started printing out one copy after the other. 

Sometimes, Sansa thought that Joffrey intentionally broke equipment so he could act as the dashing hero and save the day. Sansa seriously considered learning how to fix electronics just to one-up him. 

Then, she thought of something better. 

One hour, two cups of coffee and three co-conspirators later, Sansa had set the stage perfectly. She gathered her audience (a group of vindictive girls wronged by Joffrey ), and prepared herself to play the most important role in her life so far. 

Sansa strolled into Joffrey 's office with a sexy, helpless look on her face. "Can you help me fix the printer? I think I broke it again..." She pouted, just for extra measure. Without question, Joffrey followed her out into the printing room. 

"Ladies," Joffrey nodded, slightly nervous, at the crowd of girls who gathered around the printer. Sansa wondered if he suspected anything. "What seems to be the problem?"

Sansa shrugged. "No idea. The thingie just broke."

Joffrey smiled one of his signature sickly smiles. "I'll fix it for you." Now he spoke to the ground of girls, several of whom had their camera phones out. 

Joffrey stooped down and started working on the machine. One of the girls started giggling uncontrollably, and Sansa shushed her, but it was too late -- Joffrey had already heard. 

"What's so funny?"

Sansa was about to come up with a credible explanation when the girl, Ros, answered for herself. "Instagram friend of mine just met The Knight of Flowers. Says he's super hot." A few girls hummed in approval, and Joffrey scoffed. 

"I hate watching his concerts on TV. I can't stand the wailing of women."

Sansa wanted to slap him, but she knew his punishment was still to come. 

"You see, it's simple really, you just have to --" Joffrey screamed as he was shocked by a volt of electricity. He looked terrified, absolutely mortified, even though it was only a few volts. 

Sansa and the other girls couldn't suppress their laughter, and they started giggling like mad. Joffrey goes red with fury. 

"You'll pay for this! You'll all pay!" He storms out, leaving the girls a laughing mess. 

Joffrey storms up the stairs to his grandfather's office, and swings open the door without knocking. "Fired! I want you for fire them all!"

Tywin, who is attempting to have a civil conversation with Tyrion, is not amused. "What's happened now?"

"They pulled a prank on me! They shocked me, literally!" 

Tywin sighs wearily and allows Tyrion to speak. "Believe me, they want the same for you. Now father, if we can get back to --" 

Joffrey stomped his foot against the ground like a petulant child. "You certainly may not! Not until this matter is resolved."

Tywin's voice was monotone and he almost sounded bored with the whole frivolous affair. "The matter is resolved." Twin glanced at the clock. "Don't you have work you should be doing?" 

Joffrey said nothing, but his breathing was ragged and his eyes were filled with fury. "This isn't over," he said before turning and running out the office. 

Tyrion was thankful he was gone. The last thing he needed was his pestilential nephew buggering up his day. "Off to Cersei to whine, I imagine. Now, back to business?"

"Our matter is resolved as well. You will stay down in the mail room until you realize the weight of your actions and --"

"--the consequences you have reaped," Tyrion finished. "Yes, yes, I know all that. I made a drunk pass at Shae. She rejected me. I passed out on the floor of the copy room. That's hardly a 'heavy action'." 

"Yes, but you did it on company time." Tywin sounded genuinely pissed off now. "Go to a bar or some other filthy watering hole and spill your drivel there."

That's exactly what Tyrion went off to do.


	3. Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes a new friend. Ned tries to change the company.

Arya runs our of fun things to do around 9:30 in the morning. 

"I'm bored."

Sansa sighs, swiveling around in her chair and giving her sister a look. "Only boring people are bored, and you're always bored." Sansa smirked. "What do you think that says about you?"

Arya frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'm always bored here. I'm never bored at home." That wasn't necessarily true, but Sansa didn't need to know that. 

"Then go file this." Sansa handed Arya a stack of folders, which her sister took reluctantly. 

"Where?"

Sansa shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, as long as they get put away somewhere." 

Arya wasn't sure she was qualified to perform this particular task, but then again, how hard could filing something be? 

Turns out, it was really incredibly hard. 

Arya had no idea where the filing cabinets were. She wandered around the office until finally, about an hour later, she gave up and sat down defiantly on the floor of the computer room. 

"Can I help you, miss?" A kind voice asked, and Arya looked around, realizing she wasn't alone. 

"Um... Yeah. I need to find the filing cabinets." Arya looked over the edge of the computer desk, and to her surprise, she saw a young girl kneeling there. 

"Oh, you're way far off. Filing cabinets are in the basement." The girl poked her head over the desk, and Arya almost gasped when she saw the girl's face. Half of her face was covered in some strange looking grey paste which was dry and cracked. 

Arya couldn't help saying, "You've got something on your face." She wasn't trying to be rude, but she wondered how anyone could have something so strange on their body. 

The girl just smiled. "Oh, I know. I'm a good sport about it. I've had it ever since I was a baby." 

"Oh." Arya wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was that honestly what the girl's face looked like? Arya didn't mind or judge, of course, but she couldn't help feeling pity for her knew friend. 

Arya smiled, attempting to remedy the awkwardness she'd just caused. "Can you show me?"

The girl hoped up, and Arya was relived to see the girl was about her age. "Of course!" 

Together, they walked quickly out the door and down the hall. Arya couldn't help feeling like they were going on an adventure. "My name's Arya. What's yours," Arya asked as they passed the coffee cart. 

"Shireen." A nice name. "I like computers." 

"Cool." Arya liked computers too, but usually only to play video games on. "Do you work here?"

"No, no, I'm way too young. I'm homeschooled, so my dad just lets me come in and help sometimes."

"Your dad?"

"Yeah, Stannis -- oh," she corrected herself. "Mr. Baratheon." 

Arya nodded even though she wasn't quite sure who Shireen was talking about. There was three Mr. Baratheons in the office, and Arya knew none of their first names. "My dad's Ned Stark."

Shireen stopped short and spun around, her eyes wide. "Your dad's Mr. Stark?" 

"Um... Yeah..." Arya wasn't sure if that was a problem or not, but she sure hoped it wasn't, because she didn't want to lose her new friend. "Is that okay?" 

"It's great!" Shireen smiled. "Mr. Stark is so nice! He bought me a cookie yesterday!" 

That made Arya happy. "Yeah, he's a nice guy. I'm only here because I got suspended from school," she admitted.

"What'd you do?"

Arya blushed. "Sheepshifted my teacher, Mrs. Mordane's, laptop."

Shireen laughed and Arya was relived. "Awesome. Oh, here we are." 

Arya looked around, not realizing they had moved through the entire office building. They appeared to be in the basement now. It was dark and creepy down there, and it reminded her of on of the dungeons from Skyrim. 

"Thanks," Arya said gratefully, opening one of the filing cabinets (which was empty), and placing the folders inside. "If I ever need help again, can I ask you?"

"Of course." Shireen gave Arya a pat on the back and glanced down at her watch. "Oh! I've got to go meet da for lunch. See you later, Arya." Shireen waved as she walked away, leaving Arya standing starstruck next to the cabinet. Arya wasn't sure she'd ever met anyone that nice before. 

Arya smiled, and in that moment, she vowed to get suspended from school a lot more. 

*

Ned looked at the clock, groaned, and wished he hadn't. 10:29. He'd only been at work two-hours and already he had a headache and a mountain of unfinished paperwork. 

Ned cracked his knuckled and braced himself for the impending blame storm that was about to enter his office. He'd invited the heads of departments, the partners, and the shareholders to a 10:30 meeting. He just prayed to gods that Rob wouldn't show up drunk and steal the show. 

There was a gentle knock on Ned's door, and he panicked, straightening his desk with lightening reflexes. When he was done cramming files into random cabinets and watering the partially-dead plant Sansa had given him, he beckoned the knocker to enter. 

Ned wasn't expecting every single person he'd invited to the meeting to show up at once. Apparently, they were all very, very punctual. He asked Sansa to bring him some extra chairs so he could accompany of the crowd of people now in his office. The variety of importance of his audience ranged from crucial to essential to paramount. Cersei and Tywin Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Varys, Stannis and Renly Baratheon would probably all be against him. As for Varys, Ned wasn't even exactly sure what the man did. Ned was relieved that Olenna Tyrell showed up, if only to provide witty commentary to what he was sure would be a delightful meeting. 

"Welcome," Ned began. "I'll make this short, because I'm sure you're all very busy people." Ned paused, not entirely sure how to continue. He'd learned that it was best to be dispassionate and blunt when working with these people.. "Revenue is down, and so are many other things, so we're going to have to lay off a few people." 

Renly groaned, Petyr smirked, and Varys remained (as ever), apathetic to the entire cause. 

Ned cleared his throat, and the room silenced once again. "I'll leave the decision up to the department heads about who gets sacked, but I remind you --" Ned focused his gaze particularly on Petyr, "-- that we simply cannot afford to be biased in these troubled times."

"I don't know what you're implying," said Petyr. Ned was sure he did, and so he gave the man a look that spoke volumes. "I'm not firing any of my girls." Petyr was referring, of course, to the secretarial pool, which was under his direct control as the money manager. 

"I wasn't implying anything," Ned lied. "Simply that we should focus our limited resources on the most important and beneficial things that help the company." 

Cersei scoffed. "Like what? As long as the work gets done, what does it matter what we spend the money on?" 

Ned was pretty sure Cersei had never worked a day in her life, but he didn't feel like an argument at the moment, so he pretended as if he didn't hear her. Luckily, Olenna Tyrell did. "My dear girl, take your hand off your pocket book and put it to work." 

Ned tried not to look amused. "Can we all agree on this?" Ned tried to make his voice sound like he wasn't begging. "Please, everyone, we can't make it through this winter season without total cooperation. Can we all agree to put the good of the company ahead of everything else?"

They all swore, of course, that they would put the company first. Ned knew they were lying, but he hoped that they would at least somewhat attempt to keep their promise. For the good of the company, and all the employees, he hoped that someone besides himself would try to be honest.


	4. Chapter 4

(Otherwise known as 'How Tyrion Stole His Groove Back')

Tyrion sat on a small pile of male, trying not to think of all the various ways he wanted to kill his father. 

He looked around hopelessly. In the last hour, they'd gotten over seven deliveries of letters. It seemed as though every inch of the room was covered in mail. Brienne had turned off the heated in order to avoid a fire hazard, and Sam's water bottle had frozen solid.

Tyrion sighed, adjusting his position atop his mail tower and hoping he didn't have any paper cuts on his ass. "Why is there so much bloody mail?"

Brienne shrugged. "Winter is coming. You know what that means."

"What?"

"Christmas," said Brienne and Sam in unison. Brienne took over, eyeing Sam with a slightly domineering glare. "Letters to Santa, cards, presents, all that rubbish." 

"So basically, this is the seven hells frozen over?" 

Sam nodded. "Basically." His teeth chattered, and Tyrion was surprised he could even speak. 

Just then the door opened, and a fresh gust of slightly warmer air breezed into the room. Tyrion sighed as another cached of mail was delivered. 

"Here to torment us again?" Tyrion asked the mailmain, Bronn. 

"Not my fault these damn child 'ave so much 'ope." Bronn dumped the new mail in with all the others. 

Tyrion looked down at his hands which were covered in paper cuts. He decided that he was either going to die of blood loss or hypothermia or both, and so he might as well live life to the fullest extent while he still had fingers. "Fuck this. I'm going to get a drink. Bronn, Sam, Brienne -- care to join me?" 

Brienne shook her head. "No thanks. I'm going to find someplace to cram all this extra mail..." 

Bronn nodded in an instant and Sam looked happier than a drunk on St. Patrick's Day. "Excellent. Let's piss off."

Thirty minutes, four bars, 21 drinks and 17 shots later, Tyrion and his gang were royally piss drunk. 

What Bronn didn't know, is that Tyrion was getting him drunk with a purpose. 

Sam had passed out long ago. Tyrion and Bronn continued to drink. 

Tyrion poured another shot glass and nearly slid off his chair. He then broke out into uncontrollable giggles. 

"What's so funny," cackled Bronn. 

"I was just..." Tyrion burst into another fit of giggles. "Thinking about this funny thing in my dad's office." 

"What thing?" Bronn's eye were wide and he looked like someone ready to behold the magical wonders of the universe. 

"There's this thing -- this really awesome thing -- in my dad's office. It's like, this super super cool magical box thing. I really like it. Like, I really really like it, but I can't get it 'cause it's so heavy. I really want it though, like..." Tyrion hiccuped. "That's why I'm always such a sad little mean man all the time."

"Wow." Bronn slurred, spilling his drink on his shirt. Bronn was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. "Do you want ME to get it for you?"

That's how Tyrion got Bronn to steal the safe from his father's office. (True, that could be categorized as a 'crime', but then again, Tyrion really didn't give a shit.)

...

Tywin was, understandably, pretty pissed off when he walked into his office the next morning to find his fifty-pound 'indestructible' safe missing. 

Tyrion, luckily, was too hungover to care. He'd gotten his sweet revenge, and he was able to pass drunkenly into a deep, peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks. 

 

 

...

5

Sansa had lost track of how many minutes she'd spent looking for the Dornish files. She'd checked every filing cabinet in the building, but found nothing. In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have told Arya to just file the file 'anywhere'. It was (sort of) extremely important, and she had to have it on Mr. Lannister's desk in thirty minutes. She was (sort of) extremely freaking out. 

Thankfully, Tyrion noticed how distressed she was and stopped her in the break room. 

"Sansa, are you okay?" He looked genuinely concerned. 

She was about lie and say she was fine, but it wouldn't benefit her to lie. She sighed, "I lost this important file." 

"Ah," Tyrion nodded sympathetically. "How can I help?" 

So Tyrion and Sansa began walking through the office, rechecking every nook and cranny they could find. Tyrion knew about some hiding places Sansa didn't, but they were either full of alcohol or condoms. 

Tyrion and Sansa were walking towards the supply closet when they passed two secretaries who were laughing furiously and whispering. Desdemona Crakehall and Ellery Sandsfield. Tyrion began repeating their names furiously. 

"What're you doing?" Sansa hoped he wasn't having some kind of psychotic meltdown. 

"Making a list," he said calmly.

"Of people you're going to kill!" Sansa unconsciously stepped a little further away from Tyrion, which he obviously noticed.

"No, of course not. I'm not Joffrey." Thank gods for that. "But if I can scare them a little, maybe I'll sleep better at night." 

This made Sansa smile. "You should sheepshift his computer."

Tyrion stopped dead. "What?"

"You know, sheepshift his computer?" Tyrion still didn't get it, so Sansa continued. "My little sister does it to me all the time. She steals my laptop or phone and uploads all these pictures of sheep onto it. Then I have to spend hours deleting it all."

"Oh, gods, the horror," Tyrion mocked. "What's so bad about sheep." 

"Nothing," Sansa shrugged, but Tyrion could tell she was holding back. "Maybe I'll tell you someday, if you're lucky... The fear of sheep is called 'Ovinaphobia, by the way." Tyrion just stared at her. "I Googled it," she replied, as if it made perfect sense. 

Soon, Tyrion was leading Sansa down the dark and disgusting corridors of the basement towards some (previously) abandoned file cabinets. 

"How do you know about this place," she asked, trying to take her mind off the suspicious green patch of mold she'd just stepped in. 

"My father banished me to the Wall and, well, this is the only place other than the the Wall we have to store mail." He gestured at the file cabinets, and Sansa saw they were stuffed full of mail. "Good luck digging the files out of there." Tyrion gave her a reassuring pat on the back, and he was just about to walk away when Sansa stopped him.

"How am I supposed to get back?" It was a silly question, but Sansa didn't want to be alone in the creepy corridor. 

"Just follow the warmth. The warmer it is, the closer you are to getting back to civilization," he stated like a professional tour guide. "Is that everything?" Sansa nodded, and she watched the dwarf walk away.

"Thanks," Sansa called after him. He gave her a thumbs up and turned down another hall out of view. 

Sansa realized she only had ten minutes left until the file was due, and she frantically began digging around in the cabinet. Finally, she found it and ran back upstairs to Tywin's office to deliver it on time.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jaime woke up that morning, he was definitely not expecting to get stuck in an elevator with a shemale.

But hey, things don't always go according to plan.

Now he was standing there, quiet and awkward, next to this giant woman (at least, he was pretty sure she was a woman), waiting for a repair crew to come and rescue them.

And the worst part was that he was going to be late for lunch with Cersei. Not that he'd been looking forward to lunch. He'd been looking forward to Cersei. Now he could only look forward to a very late lunch and a very angry Cersei.

Jaime sighed and leaned against the elevator walls. It was hot and the elevator music sounded like some kind of evil lullaby on a loop and the woman(?) next to him kept stealing glances at his stump of a hand.

Finally, he'd had enough. "I bet you're wondering what happened to my hand," he said, gesturing at his stump.

The woman pretended she didn't hear him. Jaime continued on as if he was the most important thing in the universe. "Well, since you're obviously so keen to hear my tale, I guess I'll have to tell you it." He rolled his eyes and made a show of himself. He reminded her of some strange kind of animal trained to do tricks for show. "Just got back from the wars, you see. And, um, there was this other soldier there - Mad Aerys, we used to call him - who really had it in for me. One day, we were doing a routine checkup on this village, when someone took a shot at Aerys. Now, the person who shot at him was just a kid defending his family, and shot didn't even hit Aerys, but he just... Aerys turned on me... turned on us all, really. Started screaming 'Burn them. Burn them all'." Jaime paused, unsure if he should go on, even though it was obvious the woman was listening. "Got out his gun, was about to shoot that little innocent boy... So I shot Aerys in the back and saved the little boy's life. Then, the other men in our troop heard the shot and - thinking I was the enemy, probably - shot me in the hand. Turned septic, and... Well, the rest is history."

There was a pregnant pause where Jaime just stared at the woman expectantly. Suddenly, the elevator gave a jolt and the doors swung open.

The woman's voice was deep and low, but it confirmed Jaime's suspicions that she was, in fact, a woman. "Interesting. But what's the real story?" She walked out without another so much as a glance at him.

"Wait!" Jaime cried, hoping to stop her. She kept walking. "What's your name."

"Brienne." And then she was gone.

Jaime was left standing alone in the elevator with only his false memories and a name: Brienne.

6:29 How ya feelin', handsome?

Tywin groaned as he glanced at the text. He'd received several anonymous, extremely personal texts in the last few hours, and he found it all very disturbing.

6:31 Very well, thank you. TL

That was a lie, but he certainly wasn't about to tell some stranger how he really left. His phone beeped again (an annoying sound), and he made a mental note to ask an intern to help him turn it off later.

6:33 What are you wearing?

Tywin stopped dead. Now this whole affair was getting too strange.

6:37 Nothing. TL

6:38 None of your business, I mean. TL

6:39 Oh, you're no fun.

There was a sharp knock on the door which Tywin knew could only belong to Jaime, his second least annoying child. "Come in," Twin said, compulsively straightening the (mock) gold plate on his desk that read 'HEAD OF BUSINESS'.

"Father," Jaime stretched out his hand - his one hand - to shake Tywin's. Tywin would never get used to the reality of both of his sons being malformed.

"Please sit," Twin gestured towards the chair, just as his phone beeped again. He ignored it. "I'm sure you're curious as to why I asked you here."

Jaime did not sit. Instead, he stood, looking messy and awkward and out of place in Tywin's neat office. "I assumed you were being cryptic for a reason?"

Tywin's phone beeped and he rolled his eyes. When would this person stop badgering him? "Yes, actually. Frankly, in these last few months, you've been a disappointment."

Tywin's phone beeped again.

"I wasn't aware I had anyone to disappoint." Jaime was refering, of course, to how utterly alone he'd been since he returned from service. His lunch appointment with Cersei and subsequent meeting with his father were just about the only social contact he'd had since he got back (aside from Brienne). Jaime sighed. "What do you want me to do? Regrow my hand?"

Another beep.

"No. Just... Be a Lannister." There was an earnest look in Tywin's eyes that hadn't been there for years. "I can get you a job here working as a Night's Watchmen. The Captain of the Night's Watchmen, actually. 13 men at your command. That should give you something reasonably interesting and important to do."

Tywin's phone beeped again and Jaime eagerly changed the subject. "Do you want to answer that?"

"No. I want you to answer me." Tywin's nearly nonexistent patience was already running dry. "Do you accept the position or not?"

Jaime accepted because, really, he had no choice. He'd spent the last few months eating junk food on the couch, watching TV, and taking ridiculously long baths. Basically, he was having some sort of mid-life crisis where he relived his teenage years.

As soon as Jaime left, Tywin eagerly checked his phone messages.

6:45 Ignoring me, naughty boy?

6:48 Unfortunately, I'm incorrigible and I need attention.

6:51 Has anyone ever told you that you have a nice bum?

6:53 Well, I'm telling you now, that thing is TIGHT.

Tywin's eyes were wide with fear.

There weren't many people who knew his cell phone number, so that narrowed the possible senders considerably. He ran over the list of possible suspects in his head:

Shae

Tyrion (Tywin shuddered at the thought)

Varys

Any of the young secretaries

Every possibility was a bad one.


	6. Chapter 6

"This has to end," grumbled Ned, as he pressed number 4 for the seventh time. The vending machine still refused to yield it's delicious prize. Ned gave the machine another quarter before realizing he was never going to get his candy. Defeated, he slinked back to his office with a sigh. 

Arya was being spun around in his office chair by Shireen. Ned liked his daughter's new friend, but he liked his chair and his personal space even more. Arya froze when Ned walked into his office, looking concerned. "Everything alright, dad?"

"Yeah, it's --" Suddenly, Ned got a brilliant idea. "Arya, you've got little arms, could you get something out of the vending machine for me."

That's how Arya Stark got her arm stuck in a vending machine. (It was a very, very serious matter.) 

Ned sat with her the whole time, like a good father. Arya had only one condition: Once she got out of the machine, she wanted the candy bar for herself. 

"I can feel it!" Arya was filled with a sense of triumph as her fingers wrapped around the candy. I think I can get it!" 

After a while Joffrey showed up. He stayed only to make rude comments and try to scare Arya. "EMTs will probably have to cut her arm off. Or I could do it with the paper cutter. Wouldn't even -- Ouch!" Sansa 'accidentally' elbowed him in the ribs.   
Ned had never been more proud of his two daughters. 

At that exact moment, Stannis and his secretary Melisandre walked passed. Ned didn't like Melisandre; she was also so severe and depressing. Plus, the whole thing with red was just really off-putting. 

Ned felt Arya tug on his shirt, and she pulled him in close as she whispered, "Who's that red lady?" 

Ned lacked an age-appropriate explanation for Melisandre, who he just decided to lie. "She's Mr. Baratheon's secretary."  
"Which Mr. Baratheon is he?"

Ned thought it was odd that his daughter was curious, but brushed it aside nonetheless. "Stannis. Your friend Shireen's dad."

Arya beamed a smile. "Oh!" She raised her free hand in the air and started waving it around like mad, trying to get Stannis' attention. "Mr. Baratheon! Mr. Baratheon!" 

Stannis didn't even look at her. 

"That's okay. I can thank him later." Arya smiled, positive as ever.

"Thank him?" Ned asked, not sure Stannis had ever done anything worthy of thanks. "For what?"

"Shireen." 

Ned smiled. 

*

"Sansa, could you come in here a moment?" 

Sansa sighed as she heard the gruff voice of Mr. Baelish come over the intercom. He was the only person who still used the intercom, simply because he didn't want to buy a new one. 

She pressed the little red button. "Just a moment sir." 

It had become a habit of Sansa's to make herself look as unattractive as possible before seeing Mr. Baelish. She even spilled coffee on her feet once, just to deter him from looking at her chest. But all her efforts didn't work; he still stared at her with those predatory eyes. He gave her the creeps. Today, she decided to do something simple to herself, like muss up her hair a little and smear her mascara.

She didn't even knock on Baelish's office door before she entered, because she knew it would give him another excuse to speak to her. She walked right in, head held high, ready for anything, not realizing that her efforts to make herself less attractive had, in fact, made her more attractive. 

"Child, are you alright?" Baelish got up out of his chair and started walking towards her. Sansa didn't realize why until she saw her reflection in window. Mascara smudged, eyes red squinting in the harsh office lights. 'Shit, I look like I've been crying,' she thought.

"What's happened?" Baelish reached out a hand towards her, and Sansa wondered what she was supposed to do with it. 'Am I supposed to hold his hand? That's weird, right? Yeah, that's weird.'

"Uh..." Sansa was lost for words, because she couldn't tell Baelish the truth. 'Yes, Mr. Baelish, I made myself look ugly in an attempt to get you to stop hitting on me.' No. That wouldn't work. A solution out of this required more refined, mature techniques. "Allergies."

"Ah..." Baelish seemed to accept this without question, which relieved Sansa. "Well, then..." He strode back to his desk, tasking a seat in the iron chair he was always talking about. Honestly, the chair was the most interesting thing in the room at the moment. "Sansa, you're a clever girl, how'd you like to be my secretary?"

Sansa didn't say anything. Maybe, just maybe, if she did nothing, she would get to leave. 

"The pay's good," Baelish continued, as if it mattered. "And I'm very, very good to my girls."

Oh, gods, he was so creepy. Like, he was creepy that he should be locked up in jail right now for the crimes he undoubtably commit in the future. Sansa tried to sound polite and not disgusted at all. "No thanks. That's very kind of you, but I'm pretty happy making copies." 

"Sure? It's a lot less hours and work. Plus, it'd be a major boost in your career." 

Sansa didn't consider this much more of a summer job than a 'career'. "Really, Mr. --"

"Call me Petyr, please." Sansa certainly wasn't going to do that. 

"I'm good, thanks." Sansa turned towards the door, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. 

"Sansa..." Gods, she could slap him right now. Not only was this creepy, it was also probably sexual harassment. 

"May I go now, sir?" Sansa punctuated the last word with mocking force. Not waiting for an answer, Sansa walked out of his office and back to her desk. He didn't dare follow her. Sansa would never let herself be controlled by anyone, least of all Baelish. 

*

After Arya rescued her hand from the vending machine, she made her way to Stannis' office with a newfound determination and bravery. (Maybe that was just the sugar rush from the candy bar, though.) Too excited to knock, she opened the door without being invited in and was greeted with quite a sight. 

Something Arya could only describe as a very naked game of Twister was going on between Mr. Baratheon and his secretary, the red lady. 

Quickly, Arya shut the door. Panicked, she ran to the restroom and locked herself in one of the stalls.   
'What the hell was that?' Arya wasn't an idiot, of course. She's heard from a friend at school about the sex thing. She just didn't think the sex thing happened like that. 'Maybe it wasn't the sex thing?' Arya tried to think of another possible explanation for what she'd just seen. 'Strip Twister?' Arya dismissed the idea because it was silly; they didn't even have color squares.


	7. Chapter 7

Tyrion was being called in Joffrey's office on a very important matter. (At least, a matter very important to Joffrey).

"I need you to find my a new chair," Joffrey said as soon as Tyrion walked in his door.

"What? Why? What's wrong with the one you have now?" Tyrion couldn't help noticing that Joffrey was sitting on this 'problematic' chair. 

"It's too comfortable. Someone who has work to do should never be comfortable." Joffrey never did any work, so Tyrion didn't see how this would matter. "I need another one." 

Tyrion rolled his eyes. Fuck this, he had mail to sort. "There's an Office Max down the street, and I'm sure they'll take any pennies you can pull out of your piggy bank." 

"Hey!" Joffrey stood up, trying to intimidate Tyrion with his height. "Do it or I'll get grandfather to fire you." If this was Joffrey's revenge, it was the strangest revenge Tyrion had ever seen. 

Tyrion gave Joffrey a look. "It doesn't work like that."

The next several minutes were spent arguing childishly until, finally, Tyrion succumbed to Joffrey's bratty logic and walked out into the hall. Luckily, he saw just the man he needed down the hall. 

"Renly," Tyrion shouted and Renly jumped. "I need your help."

Renly smiled and instantly set down what he was working on. "What's up?"

"You seem like the kind of guy who knows where to find a good chair, am I right about that?" 

Renly rolled his eyes. "That's an outlandish stereotype." He paused. "But yeah, I am."

"Good. I need you to find me the ugliest, most uncomfortable, strangest chair you can. I don't care what it costs. Buy it, wrap it, and put in Joffrey's office." 

"Um, last I checked, you work in the mail room and I'm the Head of Laws? I'm very important and very busy." There was a brief pause where Tyrion wasn't sure what Renly was going to do. "Of course I'll help you find it. Is it for Joffrey? Oh, I want to make him suffer!" 

Tyrion sent Renly along his merry way and walked down to the mail room, pleased with himself. 

*

"So what do you think, Ron or Harry?"

Shireen shrugged. "I actually like Hermione more. She's so clever, always reading all the time. My turn... Draco or Voldemort?"  
"Voldemort," Arya said, her voice lacking any enthusiasm. 

Shireen adjusted frowned. "What's wrong, aren't you having fun?" 

"Yeah, I'm having fun." That was mostly a lie. Arya was having fun with Shireen, but her mind was too busy trying not to think about Mr. Baratheon and the red lady. Arya knew for a fact that the red lady wasn't Mr. Baratheon's wife and Shireen's mom, Selyse. Faking a smile, Arya couldn't hide her curiosity. "Do you like your mom?"

Shireen looked shocked at the question. "Of course, I love her. Did you love your mom?" 

"Yeah, but I never told her." Arya had always wanted to act grown up around Cat. "I wish I had, though."

Shireen nodded, and they talked of it no more. 

*

"Oh, come on Ned, you've got to help me out." 

Ned rubbed the temples of his head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Carl, I just can't. You know the rules."

"Ned," Carl lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "It's just a little favor! You know I wouldn't ask for help unless I really needed it." That definitely wasn't true. Carl Stark had been asking Ned for 'little favors' since they were children. Ned had only given in once, and the results had been disastrous. 

"It's illegal. I can't possibly do it. I won't do it." Ned noticed he was shouting, and attempted to calm his voice. "Ask someone else."

"Ned, come on." Carl's voice suddenly became very solemn. "For Cat, help me out." 

'Cat didn't even like you,' Ned said in his head, but he realized that wasn't exactly true. "I'll see what I can do. But I don't think it'll be anything significant. Ten, maybe fifteen --"

"Anything will help. Thanks so much, Ned. Cat would be proud, I'm sure."

Ned sighed. This was definitely something Cat would not be proud of. 

*

"It's beautiful," Tyrion marveled, staring at the ugly as shit chair in front of him. 

"Don't you just love it?" Renly was staring at the chair in awe as well, as though it was some treasure. "If Joffrey doesn't want it, I might just keep it." 

Tyrion and Renly erupted into childish giggles. The chair was, in a word, ghastly. It was (apparently) something Tyrion had never heard of and Renly worshipped called 'art deco'. Frankly, the chair looked like it was made of staples. 

"A chair fit for a right little jerk like --"

At that exact moment, Cersei walked in. The look on her face was sharp enough to maim. 

*

"Is this really what people do on dates?" Stannis looked around, not believing that where they were could even remotely be categorized as 'romantic'. "It's very dark."

"A little light will fix that." Melisandre gestured at the leader of the group, who seemed to be wearing some kind of red hazmat suit. This odd man was holding a lit lighter, standing on a picnic table over what appeared to be a huge pile of books. 

Stannis was about to ask another question when Melisandre shushed him. The odd man started to speak. 

"Lord of Light! Come to us in our darkness! We offer you these false prophecies!" The odd man threw the lighter into the pile, and it ignited in a burst of blinding white flame.

Melisandre whispered, "Did you bring what I asked?"

Stannis nodded, looking down at the book he held tightly in his hands. "Children of the Seven." Shireen's favorite book when she was a little girl. 

"Good." She stared up at him with her dark, gorgeous eyes. "Now cast it into the fire." 

Reluctantly, Stannis stepped forward and -- taking one last glance at his daughter's favorite book -- threw the cursed object into the flames. 

Stannis stared hopelessly into the burning fire. 

Melisandre cooed in his ear, "Now we can begin again."

The only problem was, Stannis wasn't sure how much he wanted to.


End file.
